


call off the search

by sealions (orphan_account)



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Office Sex, Older Damian Wayne, Older Tim Drake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21805252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sealions
Summary: Damian doesn't like to think of himself as a greedy man.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Damian Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 204
Collections: Batfam Kinkmas Exchange 2019





	call off the search

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilviscious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilviscious/gifts).



> For the wonderful lilviscious! They've written some killer batfam and I'm jealous. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> No warnings! Damian is a lil creepy but that's it.

Damian doesn't like to think of himself as a greedy man.

He has millions to his name. Billions if this quarter goes particularly well. A fleet of fast cars and faster yachts. Everything everyone wants. No need for greed or ugly things like desperation.

Yet, looking down at Drake's naked, panting form opened up around his cock, he finds himself overcome with it. The need to _have._ To _own._ To _possess._ In a way that is much more intimate than sex. Damian wants to crack Drake open and live in the spot right next to his heart. Or his brain. Or anywhere he'll fit. He wants to take Drake and lock him away in the highest of towers and the deepest of caverns. Since this thing between them began, Damian can honestly say he _gets_ fairy tale villains. It's worrying, all-consuming and Damian doesn't want it ever to stop.

"Stop looking at me like that," Drake groans and shoves at his chin. It tips Damian's head upwards, drags his eyes from Drake, and that won't do. He smacks away Drake's hand. Drinks in the view again like a man starved. Sprawled across his (everything in this room is _his_ ) desk, shirt shucked up to his belly, pants and shoes lost somewhere from the door to here and face flushed a lovely shade of peach, Drake is a sight. It's difficult to not look at him like that. Damian is very close to having a religious experience. Maybe believing in God again. He's not quite sure; the building orgasm is making him light-headed and stupid.

Which is why he replies with, "I can't" in a high and reedy voice like he's fifteen again instead of twenty.

Damian doesn't see the roll of Tim's eyes, too focused on the curve of his neck and the thought of how well chain would complement the alabaster of it. Delicate and golden, obviously. Anything too heavy would look barbaric. Silver would wash him out. The legs that wrap around his waist and drag him closer are harder to miss. He grunts, the sound forced out of him as he's pulled further to tight, silky smooth heat. 

How would he react if Damian pulled that chain tight? A fight, most likely. Drake is always fighting him. In the field, in the boardroom, in the office. Why would the bedroom be any different? Still, Damian wants.

They've been fucking for the better part of ten minutes. Damian is already beginning to lose it. He can feel his mind unravel with every slap of his hips against Drake's thighs. They've got two minutes before his assistant knocks on his door to tell him Bruce is on his way for lunch. Another twenty before he arrives. Damian is going to fall apart. It's going to be messy and embarrassing and unavoidable. Fuck.

Before that eventual crash and burn though, Damian wants to pick Drake up and slam him against the big, glass windows of his office. Fuck him against them. Whisper in his ear about all the boring little people going about their boring little lives below them. While he keeps Red Robin in his office, spread on his fingers, his cock, his tongue, whatever he fucking wants and dripping with his cum. How if they looked up, they'd only see Drake's face and wouldn't that be _worse_ than seeing the uniform? The big, bad CEO of DI getting fucked up the ass by his very public, very familial rival?

Drake would break his arm and then probably his dick before he could get even half of that suggestion out, but that's okay. Damian's got a good imagination. He's also excellent at persuasion. They'll work up to it. Then, the chains can come out of the bottom drawer of his desk too.

The heels at the small of his back dig in, Drake arching elegantly. Damian feels a bit like a shetland. It's not an entirely unpleasant feeling. Only mostly so. Drake opens his mouth and Damian can feel the demand coming. He doesn't mind. "Harder. More."

Anything, Damian thinks. He grips Drake's hips hard enough his joints ache.

-

They miss the knock.

They miss the fucking knock.

Damian was so fucking busy with his lips wrapped around Drake, so focused on drinking in the little whines and cants of his hips that he missed the knock. Greedy, greedy, _greedy_.

Drake comes down his throat too deep for Damian to taste and isn't that a disappointment? His hands fisted in the collar of his white dress shirt because there's no way he's ruining his hair like last time. Damian keeps going, licks under the head of his cock and presses wet kisses to the head until Drake squirms away.

The door handle jiggles as Damian wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

His head snaps towards it. He doesn't bother to care if Drake's does too. He can make out a dark shadow on the other side of the fogged glass. 

Damian doesn't think. Not really. All thoughts of how Drake is that missing part that slots so perfectly into his life vanish from his mind. There's only lizard-brain, primal fear. He shoves Drake off the desk, zips his slacks, buttons his shirt and hides in the bathroom.

Drake can handle himself.

He looks at himself in the mirror. Sees glassy eyes, neatly styled hair and a flush that is obvious even on his dark skin. There are bite marks on his jawline. Damian doesn't even remember that.

He turns the tap on cold and splashes water on his face. Rubs it into his eyes. Washes his mouth out a few times.

Then he hears, "Mr Wayne?" and Bruce only calls him that when he's got something important to say and being Brucie instead of Dad.

"Two seconds!" he calls and scrubs at his face harder. He'd rather look like he was crying than sleeping with someone on the desk Bruce is most likely sitting at.

Damian rechecks his reflection. It's about as good as he's going to get. He heaves a sigh, rolls his head around his shoulders in a stretch and checks to make sure he doesn't smell. Then, he walks out of the bathroom.

The first thing he notices is one of his big, glass, really not safe to be opening like that, window is wide open. Damian can imagine the smog and pollution blowing in like clouds. He frowns at it. The second is that Bruce is sitting in the chair Drake had started out in. The one across from his desk. He's smiling brightly. Happy, definitely didn't just find out Damian is sleeping with Drake. The third is the lack of Drake. Good, great. Perfect. Damian sits down with as much of a refined air as someone who recently had an orgasm can. He thinks he does quite well.

"Good news, father?" he asks. The answer is yes. Bruce is grinning like a shark. A friendly one. A lot of his teeth are showing is what Damian means.

"Quarter went particularly well and, Sionis isn't a problem anymore."

It's always nice to get a reminder of what Bruce does to the men who fuck his kids.

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea how to write m/m smut. hope you liked it anyway!


End file.
